It is with a heavy heart and a tear in my eye that I must leave you, my home for the past two years.  Oh, the times we’ve shared.  So many memories and things to be missed.

Oh, Mr. Handicapped-Sexual-Assault guy, how I will miss watching you angrily block the cars of those who steal ‘your’ space.  Though my bosom remains hidden from your view, I will think of you fondly each time I go to Uno’s.

To the old, skeevy Hispanic man who has seemed to live on each floor of the building, and can always be found roaming the halls at a slow pace, usually following his naked and screaming 5-year-old grandson around.  How I’ll miss the dings on my car door from you parking your van obscenely close.

I will never forget batting-glove-boy, without whom my summer days would be spent aimlessly searching for a people-watching pastime.  I admire your readiness to jump into any pickup baseball game you happen upon.

And Captain, oh Captain.  You never seemed to take my verbal assaults to heart, nor comprehend my utter disliking of you – instead showcasing your tenacity at all hours of the day or night.  Who will go on drug-induced, stalker tirades and get in the faces of my much larger male friends? Who will lurk around the corner to remind me that he’ll “be waiting for me”?

To my Latin neighbors, who seem to thrive on hours-long group screamingsessions, lasting well into the wee hours of morning – I will miss my attempts to combat your reggaeton with my own obnoxiously loud Olivia Newton John.

And to Son of Sketch, a human being who once evoked tremendous feelings of nausea and utter sketchiness.  Who would have known that even YOU would have found the Captain to be too weird? I will never forget your kind attempts to come between the forced fire-alarm conversations I often found myself in the midst of with the Captain.  You were weird, but you were nice.  You stank like a year-old over-flowing ash tray, but in an odd way, you looked out for me.

But of all the things I know I’ll miss, the scenery shall rank at the top of the list.  For no longer will I have the luxury of bearing witness to scores of meth deals in the parking lot, or guessing which kind of day the heroin addict on the first floor is having.

Jefferson Hills, you will be missed.

Like the tumor they took out of my neck last year. Yeah….kind of like that.

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